Firsts
by MoonstoneIce
Summary: Fred Weasley unwillingly walks down memory lane, remembering some of his firsts in life.


**I am not J. K. Rowling nor will I even pretend to be her.**

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He was laughing, but he wasn't in the same place from before. The walls of Hogwarts had faded away, leaving Fred alone in a very white room with a very white couch. The smile fell from his lips once he recognized that it was, in fact, his mother's living room. Except everything was saturated in white.

"Wait…" Fred turned around. He tried running up the stairs, but he kept returning to this strange, overly clean, white room. "No, no, no…"

He was muttering to himself, trying to change the scenario, trying to get back to the battle, to his family, to Percy who was finally, _finally _back to his old self. But Fred knew. He knew it all too clearly.

He stopped running. "I'm dead."

Dead Fred. Fred's dead. He kept playing with the words in his head. He was bitter that the two words rhymed. He felt it was all too _perfect_, wasn't it? Dead Fred. Fred's dead. He sank onto the white, white couch. An unpleasant bubble was growing inside of him, and try though he might, he couldn't cry.

He couldn't even mourn his own death.

His head sank into his hands. He was with Percy—that git, that beautiful older brother of his—just a second ago, just a breath ago, and now he was at the Burrow. But it wasn't the Burrow; it was a white Burrow. Fred was too absorbed in himself that he didn't notice when a cloaked figure entered the room. This new arrival to what Fred assumed was his own version of hell cleared its throat. Fred looked up. The figure was dressed in white robes, matching the pristine décor of the room.

"And who are you, exactly?" Fred asked. The figure simply shook its head and pointed toward the stairs.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but I've already tried the stairs; we're stuck." The figure kept pointing. It didn't move a muscle. "No, no. We can't. We just end up back here. Do you understand? We can't leave. We're dead."

It didn't move.

"Alright, fine. I'll just show ya, but I'm telling you, I'll walk right back into this room," Fred got up and mounted the stairs. He kept talking to his new companion. "Look, see? I'm going up the stairs and now I will be entering—"

He stopped at the top. "My bedroom?"

There he was in his boyhood bedroom. It wasn't white at all but red like it had always been. The furniture was wrong though. Ron's bed was where his bed usually was, and Ginny's was where George's should have been. There were clothes strewn about, but Fred could tell they weren't his or George's. Too tiny.

Suddenly, two redheaded children burst through the door. They were tiny, tiny little things too. Barely big enough to pull themselves onto the beds. But they did. Fred watched them—identical twin boys, ginger, his bedroom. Then he knew; it was three-year-old Fred and George. He started laughing. The boys didn't see him. Of course they didn't; he was dead.

He stopped laughing.

Fred looked behind him, thinking he could yell down the stairs to the cloaked figure, but the stairs had vanished. The cloaked figure had followed him though and was standing patiently in the background.

"What is this, exactly?" Fred asked. His companion didn't say, so Fred turned his focus on the boys.

"What're ya doin' there, Freddie?" Little George was saying from his bed. Little Fred had pulled out a journal from under his pillow and was writing in it.

"I'm markin' today down, of course," he smiled. He was missing a front tooth, and his grin made older Fred smile. "It's not every day we get a sister."

Fred took a deep breath. He had forgot about this, but now it was coming back to him. Ginny was born. Ginny. Sweet little Ginny. She'd probably be crying her eyes out when she found out he had died, and here he was re-celebrating her birth. Her life. She would lead a long life; Fred was sure of it.

He looked over at the boys. George had joined little Fred on his bed. George had taken the pencil and began circling something in Fred's journal.

"Now what are _you _doing?" his younger self asked.

George smiled. "I'm circlin' the date. It's the first date we've ever had a sister."

They giggled. Somewhere downstairs someone began calling them. George rushed ahead while Fred placed the notebook back under his pillow.

Three-year-old Fred smiled. "First date."

Then he was out the door. Older Fred, the dead Fred, went to follow, thinking he could maybe get a glimpse of his sister. Maybe he would run into five-year-old Percy and tell him that he had forgiven him. Maybe he could be three again. But Fred entered King's Cross.

"What?" He asked. He felt very sick, suddenly, and he wasn't sure if it was because he had traveled that far that fast or maybe because he knew that his memory was no longer just his; the cloaked figure acted as his new, unwanted shadow. "What is going on?"

A streak of red ran right passed Fred, almost knocking him over. He looked in the direction of nine-year-old Ron sprinting. Soon he—well his eleven-year-old self—and George went zipping by. A bag dangled from George's left hand. Percy and Charlie soon followed, and closing the rear was his dad. Fred looked back to where the entire Weasley clan came from. Standing by four trunks was his mother, fuming. Ginny was perched on Fred's stuff, swinging her little legs to and fro, laughing.

"I remember this one," Fred said. The cloaked figure did nothing, so instead Fred went to catch up. They were still in Muggle London, not having walked through the wall connected to Platform 9 ¾. Ron was just outside of Platform 14, wrestling with something on the ground.

Dead Fred, Fred, and George were guffawing. The gnome that the younger two had tried to smuggle into school was biting Ron.

Percy was the one to grab the bag from George and stuff the gnome back in.

"What were you thinking!" His father was scolding. "We are surrounded by muggles."

"Gee, Dad, we didn't think it would escape," Fred started.

"Honest." George finished.

"Yes well, it looks like the two of you have a date with detention on your first day then," he was picking the sniveling Ron up. "I'm positive your mother is writing to Professor Dumbledore as we speak since she herself can't punish you herself."

Fred and George whined. Charlie was trying his best to hide his laughter, but to no avail. George gave him a dirty look.

"First day, first date with Professor Dumbledore. Be sure to bring him plenty of chocolates. You two will be having many dates these next seven years." Then he ruffled their hair, grabbed the bag from Percy, and whistled all the way to the platform. He was always like that with the twins. Charlie really took on the "older brother" role for them. Fred wondered where his brother was right now. Was he safe from the battle? Was he worried about him? Did Charlie know that he was… dead?

Fred waited for the figure to tell him where to go. His family had long since disappeared. When the figure did nothing, Fred turned to it and shouted. "What good are you then, huh? What is this? Why am I here? I'm dead! Just leave if you aren't going to do anything!"

He rushed through the wall to Platform 9 ¾. On the other side, the Great Hall waited, decorated for the Yule Ball. The room was crowded with students, dancing and laughing.

The anger Fred had felt subsided once he saw himself guiding Angelina Johnson to the dance floor. He was sure that he was bushing harder than Ron did around Hermione. This was Fred's first date.

"Well, that's…" Nice? Did he think seeing this was good or bad? He remembered this night quite vividly. It didn't end well at all, and that was due in part to his own stupidity. Angelina was a great girl, but…

And it was happening. They kissed and promptly pulled apart. Dead Fred felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him over to the couple who were staring at each other awkwardly. It was the white figure. Fred shrugged it off.

"If I wanted to relive the embarrassing parts of my life, I'd have gladly walked over myself."

The figure pointed. Fred caught the end of the conversation he had years ago.

"So, um, this shouldn't be happening then," Angelina had said.

"Probably not," He answered. Merlin, his voice was squeaky for sixteen. "I mean, I don't think it's that good of an idea if you don't."

"You just said George has a thing for me. It probably isn't a good idea."

Fred shrugged. "He couldn't ask you out, though. That would be too obvious."

"Yes, well, I'd rather have that than this situation, thank you very much," she stuck out her tongue at him, and they both started laughing.

So maybe it wasn't all that embarrassing, and for a first date, Angelina was a great pick. He had plenty of experience after that night. Katie and Alicia. That Ravenclaw Melody. Even that Slytherin girl, Daphne. He had liked her.

And George. Oh George. Fred suppressed that thought down. He couldn't think of George. Not now that he was…

The room started spinning. Fred was at the Burrow again, in the living room, surrounded by friends and family. George was lying on the couch, bloodied and earless. Fred—alive Fred—was hovering over him.

In that moment, all those months ago, Fred felt like his entire world was about to end. He knew it was only an ear, but he finally understood that he could lose George. It scared him. George was his brother, his twin. They were constantly put together, they loved each other, and they went everywhere together all the time. They had a business to run. They were inseparable.

Losing that kind of companion could only leave lasting damage on the survivor.

Fred—dead Fred—sank to his knees. He was dead. _He_ had left George behind. George, his partner in crime. This moment, back in the summer, was the first time he and George stopped looking alike. Bill's wedding was the first date in the history of Fred and George where their extended family could actually tell them apart. They weren't any different on the inside, yet they were seen differently.

Now George would always be George. And he'd be dead Fred. A mere memory to what he had been before.

Fred crumbled. He sobbed into his hands, not mourning his own death, but mourning his brother who would have to go on without him. He mourned getting to be there for George when he finally asked out Angelina, because Fred knew it was coming. He mourned not being able to open Weasley's Wizard Wheezes every morning with George, living out their dream. He missed his brother already. His twin. George wasn't even there when Fred had died. Percy was. Harry. Ron and Hermione. But not George. George didn't even get to say goodbye. Fred didn't get to either.

Once his tears ran out, Fred looked up, hoping to see George again. But he was back in the white room.

Defeated, he wiped his eyes. A hand pressed gently onto his back. Fred didn't have to turn around to know that it was the person cloaked in white.

It spoke to him. "We've one more place to go."

Fred looked up. He could just see under the hood of the cloak. Red scruff poked out from a very prominent chin. The mouth on the person smiled warmly, and Fred felt calmed by his presence for the first time since he had, well, died.

Together, the white cloaked man and Fred exited the room through the front door. They were standing in a graveyard on a very bright and warm day. Fred felt the sun warming his face. The tears he had cried were drying up, and he felt okay. Not wonderful, but okay.

He saw, then, that his family was there, dressed in black. He saw his mother having to be supported by his father, and he saw Ginny nestling her head into Charlie's shoulder. Bill held Fleur. Hermione had her arms protectively around Ron. It made Fred smile only briefly. There were other Weasley's and Prewett's sprinkled the area.

"Why here?" He asked.

"Because human beings need closure," His companion spoke again. His voice was rough and rich, like a man who loved both nature and family. "You're still attached to your humanity. It's best you see this."

Fred felt a prickle in the back of his neck. "Do I—do I know you?" His companion chuckled and walked toward the funeral. Fred followed. "I do know you. I just can't place where from."

They reached the casket. It was already closed, sealing Fred's body in for good. George was in the front of everyone, preparing to make a speech. His face was streaked with tears. That hurt Fred more than anything.

George spoke. "I—I didn't get to tell Fred goodbye, but I know he's alright. I can feel it. He died for a great cause, and I'm sure he'd be happy to know that it wasn't in vain. Our lives are going to be normal again. Fred—he may not be here for it, but I know he's in our hearts. I love you, Fred. I really do. Nothing is going to be the same. I won't—I can't ever forget you."

When Fred hugged George, he didn't expect for his twin to hug back. How could he? George didn't know that good ol' dead Fred's ghost was holding him. Fred squeezed as hard as he could though, hoping that George felt it through their two worlds. Fred leaned up and whispered in his brother's good ear, "I love you too, mate."

He let go, looked into George's face one last time, and turned to his companion. They were back in the white room again, but this time Fred knew what to do. "Your Fabian, aren't you? My uncle?"

The man removed the cloak from his face, revealing a face quite similar to that of one Molly Weasley. "How'd you guess it?"

"The red hair," Fred smiled. "And I also know that you died during the first war. Mum talks about you all the time. You and Gideon. Says George and I remind her of her brothers all the time. Of course you would come to help me."

"Yes," Fabian smiled. "Molly would have twins just like Gideon and me."

"So what is this, exactly? I don't think I learned anything new."

"You weren't supposed to," Fabian said. "They were your memories. They happened on their own."

Fred thought about it. "So what's next?"

"You have a friend waiting up stairs," his uncle smiled.

"What? Is this my first date with death now?" Fred chuckled. Fabian put out his hand for Fred to shake it. He did so, and turned toward the stairs again. As he ascended upwards, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Things were going to be alright. George would pick up and move on, though it wouldn't always be easy. The world would keep turning, magic was safe and balanced once again, and Fred—Fred was headed home.

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**Words:** 2,597

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**A/N:** This is beater 2 of the Chudley Cannons submitting her story for the practice round of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

I had Fred Weasley on his first date. My prompts were "bag" and "sealing."


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